


slow been surfacing

by seeingrightly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Homophobic Language, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:18:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going to the funeral is a bad idea for a lot of fuckin’ reasons, but Ian is going, so Mickey is going. He’s uncomfortable in the suit, feels like the tie is choking him, but every once in a while as they’re getting ready Ian will reach over and adjust Mickey’s collar, or straighten the tie, or brush off lint that Mickey is starting to think is fake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow been surfacing

**Author's Note:**

> this is set... vaguely during and after season five? it's inspired by that bit in the trailer and involves one or two major spoilers. god, please forgive the truly incredible amount of hand-waving i had to do, given that the shit in the trailer makes less sense than i thought possible. go fuck urself shameless.
> 
> thanks to [melissawright](http://archiveofourown.org/users/melissawright/pseuds/melissawright) for editing.
> 
> title from charlene kaye's "bound red gideon".

The first time Mickey attends something with Ian – goes to an event, or a function or some shit, at Ian’s side, is there _with_ him – it's the first time Mickey admits out loud that they're together, not that Ian knows that.

The baby shower is one of the first functions, _real_ events, Mickey's had to attend in his whole life, and Ian shoves his way into that after Mickey tells him not to, and then he sorta shoves Mickey on out of the closet too. It just kinda – it comes tumbling out of Mickey as he stares at the back of Ian's head. He doesn’t wanna choke again, like last time, the time Ian really left.

But then things are – off, for a while, Ian is off for a while, and Mickey spends a lot of time chasing to keep up or feeling like he’s moving too fast, too loud, too much, all depending on Ian.

And then Ian hears about a funeral, for someone he met when he was gone, Mickey doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to know, but Ian sits there on the edge of the bed and is still in a way that he hasn’t been in a while, and Mickey turns around and digs through the closet.

After a minute, like he’s broken through the fog, Ian shifts on the bed.

“I don’t have a dress uniform,” he says. “I have a suit at home I can wear.”

Mickey doesn’t turn around.

“Don’t they always have weird shit like that at Goodwill?” he asks. “Buy a set. Or steal it. Whatever. ‘Sides, I’m looking for my suit.”

“On the left side, all the way at the back,” Ian says, and then he pauses and repeats, “Your suit.”

Mickey turns and looks at Ian over his shoulder. After a second, Ian smiles, just a little.

-

Going to the funeral is a bad idea for a lot of fuckin’ reasons, but Ian is going, so Mickey is going. He’s uncomfortable in the suit, feels like the tie is choking him, but every once in a while as they’re getting ready Ian will reach over and adjust Mickey’s collar, or straighten the tie, or brush off lint that Mickey is starting to think is fake.

Mickey takes a deep breath or two before he moves to stand in front of Ian and grabs the lapel of his jacket, straightening it out, not looking up at whatever stupid expression Ian is making.

“You sure you had to buy that stupid beret?” Mickey asks casually.

“Yes,” Ian huffs, laughing a little.

He wraps one hand around Mickey’s, against his chest, holds it there for a second before turning toward the door.

-

Mickey’s tense. They’re both tense. Ian keeps his head down, at first, stands off to the side of the crowd in the cemetery, his eyes darting back and forth and his hands clasped tight and low in front of him. Mickey stands at his side, back a little, watches him watching them. When he puts his hand on Ian’s back, he can feel the thrum of something that’s only partially nerves, and it makes his breath catch.

When the other guys and chicks in uniform begin to assemble near the open grave, something in Ian tightens, holds for a second, and then Ian’s lining up too and Mickey is left to watch, hands in his pockets and his lip between his teeth.

There are a few other people hanging off to the sides, like Mickey, as things get situated. There’s a tall, wispy woman who looks a little uncomfortable, a little bored. She glances over at Mickey a few times.

“You didn’t know Gregson either?” she asks.

Mickey grunts.

“I’m here with my boyfriend,” she says, pointing vaguely. “Who you here for?”

“He’s over there too,” Mickey says eventually.

“Hm,” she says. “Who –”

“None of your fuckin’ business, Barbie,” Mickey snaps, and he feels something tensing his muscles, something weird, as he tenses his jaw.

They’re probably fucked just by being here, is the thing. He doesn’t know what kinda trouble Ian could get into, and he knows Ian’s not gonna play it smart enough. Best Mickey can do is try to keep from making it worse.

It’s just – Mickey felt like he could say it. Whatever she was gonna ask, he didn’t feel like he was gonna choke, and the pressure of grinding his teeth together, clenching his jaw shut, makes something cold pulse through him.

-

Everything explodes. Ian explodes, and Mickey doesn’t sleep. Mickey doesn’t think about words. He thinks about Ian, Ian in the hospital, Ian in prison, Ian somewhere Mickey doesn’t want to see him.

Mickey can’t remember the last time he felt warm.

The only way Mickey thought he’d ever wind up on the other side of the window woulda been if Mandy got herself locked up, for killing their dad or beating up a guy or some shit. Instead he winds up in the back of Fiona’s douche boyfriend’s car, Liam bouncing on the seat between him and Debbie.

“Are you excited?” Debbie asks Liam in a high-pitched voice. “We get to see Ian today!”

“Ian!” Liam agrees, and one of his flailing arms whacks against Mickey’s.

Mickey grumbles and leans further against the door of the car, rubbing his palms, his numb fingers against his thighs. Liam shifts, and his little sneaker connects with the side of Mickey’s knee.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey says, and Liam whines and curls against Debbie’s side, and Debbie reaches over and punches Mickey in the shoulder.

“Kids,” Fiona says loudly, and Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Hey,” Fiona’s douche boyfriend says, “buck up back there. You’re gonna see your boyfriend soon.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey sees Debbie tense, and Fiona watches him closely in the rearview mirror. He’s never heard any of the Gallaghers use a word like that, at least not in front of him. He wonders what they think he’s gonna do. Doesn’t really know what he’d do, if Ian were here to see him confirm or deny it.

But Ian’s not here.

Mickey rests his head against the cold glass of the car window. He’s already freezing so it doesn’t make any difference.

-

Ian winds up coming home the morning of Iggy’s wedding to the girl he knocked up. Turns out Iggy’s been screwing the girl a long time, doesn’t mind marrying her, which is probably the jackpot for a Milkovich. Mickey can’t get out of helping with the set-up, can’t go with whichever Gallaghers to pick him up, winds up standing in the middle of the hall where his brothers are setting up chairs trying to do his tie and cursing to himself, his fingers shaky.

He’s startled when a hand smacks his out of the way. Aunt Rande’s not maternal or helpful or remotely pleasant – she’s a Milkovich – but she huffs and takes over doing his tie for him. Probably’ll tell him to go lift some heavy shit out of her car, afterwards, stop wasting everybody’s damn time, Mick, Christ.

“It’s nice that your brother doesn’t hate the girl,” she says, like they’re in the middle of a conversation. “What ever happened to the one you married?”

“She’s still around,” Mickey says.

“Iggy said we gotta celebrate extra hard ‘cause someone’s gettin’ outta the slammer too,” Aunt Rande says. “None of the boys are in other than Terry, right?”

Mickey winces when she pulls the knot tight around his neck. She was at the Christening.

“It’s Ian,” he says, and Aunt Rande looks at him, lets her hands fall to her sides.

“The redhead,” she says, blandly, or at least as unpleasantly as she says anything else.

“Yeah,” Mickey says.

“You still playin’ house like a coupla fairies at your daddy’s place?” Aunt Rande asks, her eyebrows raising.

“Yeah,” Mickey says again, easily, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

She shakes her head, gives Mickey this look with her hands on her hips. She hates Terry as much as anybody else, probably likes the look he’d get on his face if he knew what Mickey was doing.

“Go help your brothers get the tables outta the truck,” she says, smacking him on the arm as she walks past.

Mickey smooths out his tie before heading outside.

-

He sees flashes of Ian’s hair during the ceremony – Debbie’s, too, distracting him – but he doesn’t really see Ian ‘til the reception starts, people shuffling around and reconfiguring the chairs, heading for the food and alcohol. Mickey’s sliding chairs off to the side of the room when he bumps into someone, and he drops the chairs onto all four legs with a thunk when a pair of hands grips his hips from behind.

“Jesus,” Mickey says, smacking at one of Ian’s hands, and Ian laughs and lets go.

For a second, Mickey doesn’t want him to listen. He wants Ian to ignore him, to wrap his arms around Mickey’s middle and press his face against Mickey’s neck, to pull Mickey back against his chest. To push him.

Mickey picks up the chairs again and puts them near the wall, and when he looks up Ian’s moving two more chairs. He’s dressed up, got on nice pants and a button-up, probably had his family bring the shit to him when they picked him up, probably did his stupid hair in the rearview mirror or some shit.

Mickey shoves his hand in his pocket, bites his lip, stares at Ian as he brings over two more chairs without noticing that Mickey’s stopped.

“Hey,” Mickey says.

Ian looks up at him, comes over and puts his hands in his pockets too and stands real close, leaning over Mickey a little but not touching.

“Hey,” he says, tilting his head a little, a smirk slowly crossing his face.

“Mickey,” someone calls, and he jumps and turns to see Iggy’s new wife waddling toward him, glancing up at Ian. “Iggy wants help bringing the food out. Is this your boyfriend?”

The girl – Tess – is small, quiet but straightforward, no-nonsense in a way that seems to combat Iggy’s indecisiveness and impulsiveness. She’s also the least judgmental person Mickey’s ever met, staring at him plainly, maybe a little curious but ultimately indifferent.

But Mickey can feel Ian, a warm presence just a few inches away from him, and he’s waiting to see what Mickey’ll say. Mickey opens his mouth.

“Uh,” he says, and then he stalls out, tension creeping up his neck and into his shoulders, immobilizing him.

Tess’s eyebrows raise, and she looks a little concerned, glancing over at Ian. Mickey tenses up even more when Ian puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking it a little.

“He means yes,” Ian says calmly, and Tess nods at him, her face smoothing back out.

“They’re waiting for you in the kitchen,” she says to Mickey, before she turns away.

Mickey waits a second, then another, but he can’t make himself turn around. Ian’s hand is still on his shoulder. Mickey curses and then darts away, heading to set up the food.

-

Mickey hides until the speeches. Iggy gets up and talks, and Tess gets up and talks, and a couple of Mickey’s other brothers say some shit, and a few of Tess’s friends too, and Mickey’s not sure what they have to say considering Iggy and Tess aren’t exactly a fairytale romance but Ian watches the whole thing with a smile on his face. Before the last round of applause is over, Mickey finds himself by Ian’s side, glaring up at him.

“You would love this shit,” Mickey says, and by now he's a little drunk so it comes out a little bitter.

Ian looks at him, surprised.

“Two assholes standing up in front of a room of more assholes sharing their feelings,” Mickey says. "Proving to everybody that they love each other or some shit."

He might be more than a little drunk, and he might not be making sense. He grabs a fistful of the sleeve of Ian’s shirt. Ian looks down at Mickey’s hand against his arm.

“It's not the only way,” he says.

“What's not,” Mickey asks, because he has to, but he doesn't really want to, because he feels something, something funny in his stomach, or his head, or maybe his chest.

“Shouting about feelings," Ian says, looking out at the crowd. “It’s not the only way.”

He looks back at Mickey, reaches down and puts his hand around Mickey’s until he loosens his grip. Ian pulls Mickey’s hand away from his sleeve, lowers it, but before he can let go Mickey grabs on. He feels too warm, he feels a little like his tie is strangling him, he feels like every muscle in his body is pulled too tight, and he’s probably crushing Ian’s fingers, but Ian is smiling.

-

Mickey wakes up one morning to find Ian watching him, leaning up on his elbow and looking down at Mickey.

“What,” Mickey says.

“Lip’s college is doing some kinda family weekend,” Ian says. “He says there’ll be free shit and that we’ll scare the other kids’ parents so we’re all gonna go visit for the afternoon.”

“Okay,” Mickey says.

“You coming?” Ian asks.

“Okay,” Mickey says again.

Ian flops onto his back, stares up at the ceiling with a big smile on his face. Mickey rubs at his eyes, then rolls onto his side to glare.

“What,” he repeats.

Ian looks at him.

“Just being in the room can be proof,” Ian says.

“What the hell?” Mickey asks. “Go back to sleep.”

“Standing in front of the room telling everyone about your feelings isn’t the only way to do it,” Ian says.

Mickey rolls onto his back, takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling. He takes another deep breath.

“I should be able to,” he says quietly.

Ian laughs, a raw sound.

“Fuck what we should be able to do,” he says.

He rolls over, leans over Mickey, gets in his way so that Mickey has to look at him.

“Being in the room is enough,” he says.

His eyes are wide, earnest, and his jaw is set, and Mickey wants to tell him that it’s enough for now, that it shouldn’t be enough, that he hopes it’s enough until he can get his shit together. That he’s lucky that it’s enough.

Ian squints, then, like he knows, like he figures Mickey’s thinking anything other than an agreement, so Mickey opens his mouth.

“I’ll go wherever you want,” he says, and Ian blinks, tilts his head.

“Whatever room you want,” Mickey tries again. “I’ll be there.”

“Oh,” Ian says, and then he smirks. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [professorwolfjwolf](professorwolfjwolf.tumblr.com).


End file.
